


Just the Beginning

by makesometime



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't make any grand plans. There is no grand catalyst to the moment, no brush with death to bring them together.</p>
<p>It is as simple as a request, his hand firm against her lower back, her lips swollen from eager kisses, that she stay.</p>
<p>And it is a quickly uttered, slightly tremulous <i>yes</i> that seals their fate this night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a prompt at the kinkmeme for Josephine and the Inquistor's first time.

They don't make any grand plans. There is no grand catalyst to the moment, no brush with death to bring them together.

It is as simple as a request, his hand firm against her lower back, her lips swollen from eager kisses, that she stay.

And it is a quickly uttered, slightly tremulous _yes_ that seals their fate this night.

Aran urges her forward, her position seated next to and half leant over him meaning that she smoothly transitions to be seated across his lap. She wears a hesitantly excited smile, dancing the fingertips of one delicate hand along one of his horns as she settles more comfortably.

"Are they sensitive?"

He gives a small shrug, both of his large palms settling over her hips, the tips of his thumbs not far from meeting at her navel.

"No more so than your nails are. It's where they meet the skin that-." His words are stolen by the impish tracing of her touch down, down to circle around the base of his horn. It tingles enough to make him huff out a laugh and shift beneath her.

Josephine looks thoroughly pleased with herself when she responds. " _That_ is something to remember."

"Soon you will know all my secrets." Aran mutters, leaning in to kiss her, if nothing else than to distract her from using her clever little fingers.

"You are assuming..." She says, her eyes slowly opening when he parts from her. "That I do not already."

Slowly, so that she can stop him if she so desires it, Aran brings his hands to her throat and undoes the tie there, gently loosening the material and letting it hang open. He undoes the button fastening so that the base of her throat is exposed and inviting, and he can't help but lean to kiss at the dip in her clavicle, and chase his mouth up to suck at the curve of her shoulder.

Josephine lets out an airy sigh when his hand curls over her backside, pressing back into his tentative touch. It serves to rock her more fully into his growing erection and Aran grunts appreciatively, holding her in place.

"When was the last time you were with a woman?" She asks quietly, pressing a hand over his heart, while the other curls around the back of his neck. "Or man, for that matter."

Aran chuckles, not leaning back from nuzzle at her neck. "According to rumours I believe it was last week, with Dorian in the library."

This makes her laugh, along with a delightful shiver chasing down her spine at the tickle of his words against her skin. "And the truth?"

He pulls back, fixing her with a serious look. His hand strokes a loosened strand of hair out of her face. "It has been some time. My eye is generally caught by human women, but pair my size with the mercenary group ties and they tend to find me... intimidating."

Josephine gives an indulgent smile, leaning into his touch. "Truly that is their loss."

It's warming to know that she means it. That she chooses to be with him, has no hurry to advance things. Isn't using him to sate a need, or to indulge a curiosity. Such behaviour is unthinkable from this woman.

"Besides." He says, steeling himself for his moment of honesty. "Since I met you, there's been no one else I could imagine bedding."

The blush that floods her cheeks in response to his words makes her even more alluring, impossibly. It's so charming, that this experienced player of the Grand Game can be so disarmed by simple honesty.

"You certainly know how to charm a woman." Josephine smirks, her hand tracing down over the buttons on his shirt and casually flicking each one open.

"It is simple honesty." He says, fighting the tremble that passes through him when her fingers brush his abdomen. "In my eyes there is no one else."

"Mine are equally focused." She admits, pushing the material of his shirt apart until she can stare down at his stomach, the lower half of his chest. "It has been quite a while since I last felt the urge to invite someone to my bed. And, never one as... sizable... as yourself."

Aran feels a swell of pride, a touch of smugness at her admission. She has never been with a Qunari before. He will be her first, in a way. It's as arousing as it is intimidating to know this. He will have to be exceedingly gentle with her.

Anything he might want to say in response seems crass in his head, so he doesn’t risk verbalising his thoughts. Instead he focuses on helping her out of her outer wear, the mix of blue, brown and gold melting to the floor and pooling around his feet. It leaves her in her loosened shirt and breeches and he cannot help but slide his hands up in hope of a touch of her skin.

When his fingers encounter the soft material of a laced bodice he sighs, feeling Josephine smile against his temple. She taps her fingers over the rise of his chest in a cheeky retaliation, her touch skirting close to but never touching his nipples.

She settles back, pulling his shirt down his arms as she goes. It leaves him exposed to her gaze but he feels oddly comfortable with her ogling, welcoming the stroke to his ego. She murmurs something appreciative but he doesn’t catch it, too tied up in watching as she slips away from him, standing beside his legs and holding out a hand.

“Come, Inquisitor.” She beckons, and he is powerless to do anything other than accept.

She leads him to the bed, turning her back on him once they are stood beside it, close but so far from what they both want. With a little shrug of her shoulders, Josephine lets her shirt fall to the floor and shimmies her hips until her breeches follow. He watches, rapt, as she carefully undoes the fastenings in her hair, stroking her fingers through dark tresses until it all tumbles down her back in a gorgeous wave.

She pulls it all over one shoulder and then looks back at him. “Would you be so kind as to assist?”

Aran spurs into motion immediately, taking a step closer. His hands tremble slightly as he works at the lacing of her undergarments. For one so deft of touch as himself, it's a moderately embarrassing to be so affected by a simple task such as this. He feels a heat in his cheeks as he ducks his head to concentrate more, hoping that Josephine simply... doesn't notice.

"Am I making you nervous?"

Aran fights back a curse, grumbling slightly. Her tone is slightly breathless, the woman in front of him arguably as affected by this (if not more so). But she still finds the sense of mind to tease.

"I find myself frustrated by your strange Antivan tailoring." He manages, hooking a thick finger through the ties along her back and finally managing to loosen them enough for the bodice to be pulled over her head.

"To you it may be strange, my love..." She murmurs, turning slowly to face him once more.

And Aran forgets how to breathe.

Her nipples are hard and dark through the thin chemise and he aches to reach out and touch them, to feel and taste her skin. But the choices are maddening. To focus on her breasts, at the expense of the swell of each hip, brushed as they are by the hem of her remaining clothes. To run his hands along her thighs, up between her legs, at the expense of stroking her smooth shoulders, dusted with freckles.

Josephine makes the decision for him, pressing into his chest and pulling his head down to meet hers. As they kiss, deep strokes of their tongues no longer tentative, he assumes her hand will find his hip as it has before. But instead she slips it inside his hastily-loosened breeches, and Aran jerks when her hot palm wraps around his length. He feels the quirk of her lips that signifies a smirk as she swallows his dull groan, her hand quick and nimble around him.

When she steps back, flushed and panting, Aran realises he must look quite ridiculous standing there with his cock standing proud of his last remaining item of clothing. But Josephine doesn't seem to think so. Her eyes make a slow trail down his chest to rest at his groin and she smiles to herself at what she finds.

It strikes him then (a peculiar time for it) how truly small she seems without all the trappings of her post surrounding her. He will have to be careful, slow and gentle, skilful where he might have been urgent with anyone else. With her, he will make sure it is perfect. He'd kill himself before he hurt her, emotionally or physically.

"I can hear the furious turning of cogs in your head from here." She says quietly. "Perhaps the time for thinking has passed, hm?"

He doesn't respond with words, simply reaches forward and takes a hold of the hem of her chemise. She lifts her arms to help him remove it and it's thrown halfway across the room in a moment. With a faint growl, he palms her hips and at his urging, she jumps to loop her legs around his waist. 

Aran groans when he feels her fit up along the length of his cock, the barrier of her underwear doing little to dull her heat. He moves until he is able to kneel on the bed, leaning forward so that she falls softly onto the mattress. Her legs remain around him as he chases kisses down her throat, over her chest and to each breast in turn, suckling at each peak until she is gasping, fingers clutching at his horns, his hair.

Her feet press at the sides of his breeches, urging the material down over his thighs, until he is able to kick it off, leaving him bare before her. Josephine lets out a breathy cry when his hand passes over her folds, pressing the material into her so that one of his fingers can circle her clit.

“You beat me.” She laughs, her foot stroking over his ass, skin against skin.

Aran lifts his head to smile down at her. “I was wearing significantly fewer layers to begin with.” 

She looks like a goddess in his bed at that moment, her hair a dark halo around her head. Her skin shines, her eyes bright, her lips wet and swollen. An urgency fills him, but it is different than before; what he feels is not a need to chase his own release, to obtain that moment of bliss. He wants instead to please this woman, the one whom he has been lucky enough to earn the love of. Wants _her_ satisfaction, with his own being nothing but an afterthought.

“I suppose I could even the score.” He suggests, sitting back on his heels to tuck his fingers under the material at her hips.

Josephine smiles, pulling her legs together so that he can slide the garment down and off and toss it somewhere behind them, to be considered at a much later time. Aran then passes his hands up the outside of her thighs, before pulling them apart.

He stares for all of a heartbeat before folding himself over her, his mouth finding her core slick and hot. His tongue works eagerly over her, Josephine’s surprised cries turning to encouragement that echoes through his consciousness and guides his attentions. He follows her lead, sucking hard at her clit until she jerks against him, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder to get closer. When he slides a finger into her heat she whines, calling his name and tensing delightfully under him.

Aran strokes the digit in and out of her as he licks at her bundle of nerves, mimicking the motion that his increasingly hard cock is desperate to make. But even with the best of intentions she could not take him right now with any comfort, so he works with that singular focus – bringing her pleasure, readying her for more.

When he slides another finger in beside the first Josephine shudders, gasping and arching. He almost hesitates, almost stops until she curls her fingers over the back of his head, holding him in place. With a few more strokes, a gentle scissoring of his fingers she cries out, shivering and pulsing and coming apart around him.

He draws her orgasm out as far as she will let him, pulling back when she chuckles and pushes at him, protesting her sensitivity. Sitting back once more, Aran drinks in the sight of her flush with the afterglow of release, her cheeks and chest the most beautiful faint pink colour, her breasts rising and falling enticingly as she calms her breathing. 

With a huff of effort, she rises up onto her knees, gesturing that he should settle against the headboard. He does so and she is beside him almost immediately, her hand seeking out his cock as she presses her lips to his own.

“Another time.” She murmurs, her fingers swiping over the head of his length, through the moisture that has gathered. “I will tend to you as thoroughly as you have me.”

Aran grunts, thrusting up into her touch as images of her curled over him, mouth wrapped around him, fill his mind with their lewd attraction. He senses her smile, nips at her lower lip as she draws away from him. 

He watches as she settles over his thighs once more, pressing close to his chest. Her grip changes to guide him to her entrance and then she is taking him in, slowly and carefully, and it’s all he can do not to break at that sensation alone.

Forcing his eyes open, Aran focuses on her face, on every pull of her expression towards desire, effort, need. She sinks down with care, eased by his earlier attentions. Every inch is blissful delirium on a scale he didn’t think possible, has never experienced before. Josephine appears to be experiencing the same, her eyes shut and her lip caught between her teeth as he fills her completely.

She hums after several moments of silence punctuated only by their laboured breathing, starting to rise up once more. He settles his hands on her hips but doesn’t guide her, letting her lead this dance. Her comfort is paramount, and increasingly apparent, as she sinks back down soon after with a happy sigh. 

From there he loses track of himself, of his surroundings, drawn up into the rocking of his love against him, the heat and need and increasingly desperate noises spilling from Josephine’s lips. He buries his face in her neck and simply holds her.

The trembling in her limbs signifies how close Josephine is to her end, the biting of her nails into his shoulder, the murmured strings of Antivan phrases he does not understand. Aran growls at the first flickers of her muscle around his cock, the feeling enough to bring him right to the edge.

“ _Josephine_ …” He groans, holding her tight.

“ _Yes_ , my love.”

He takes this as a tacit permission, gasping out her name once more as sensation washes over him and he spills inside her, Josephine reaching her peak at almost the same time. They sit, wrapped up in each other, shuddering and clutching at each other for what feels almost like an eternity, neither willing to break the spell that love has cast around them.

Josephine’s head rests gently against his chest and he strokes a hand through the tangled length of her hair, gathering the strands back so that he can watch her face. It’s possible she has never looked lovelier.

“It’s quite rude to stare, you know.” She says quietly.

Aran laughs, sliding down in the bed and guiding her to lie half on top of him, the covers abandoned somewhere around their feet. “Then I believe you were particularly ill mannered earlier.”

This makes her laugh, a beautiful sound that he doubts he will ever tire of. “Perhaps there must be exceptions.”

Aran could quite happily never leave this place, never leave this woman. He has fought alongside her (though granted, their talents lie in different types of combat) and he has fought _for_ her. No one can take that from him.

“I love you, Josephine.” He says. Something about the admission feels new. Deeper, more honest.

She tilts her head up to smile at him. “I love you too. Perhaps more than I thought it was possible to love anyone.”

He presses his lips to her forehead. The sentiment is shared. She is his now as much as he is hers. This, after all, is just the beginning….

\--

It's prematurely early when Josephine tears herself from Aran's arms and his ridiculous four poster bed ( _there's no footboard_ , he'd protested, when she commented on how comically out of character it was). But she cannot risk discovery, cannot risk rumour and, perhaps, malicious whispers undermining the strength of his cause.

With a sigh and a kiss to lips that still taste of her, Josephine heads for the door, ignoring the way her lover recites an endless list of things they could be doing instead. She throws him a final look at the top of the stairs and the sight of him recumbent against the sheets, covers low around his hips, is almost enough to undo her resolve....

But no. She must be strong.

She battles the urge to hum as she makes her way down to the Hall, quietly opening the door at the foot of the staircase and passing through the smallest gap she can manage. The heavy wooden structure closes silently behind her and she lets out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, there you are Josie!"

_Curse the Maker and all his children..._

"Leliana, what are you doing awake at this hour?" She asks with a light tone that somehow manages not to be as accusative as it really is.

The spymaster pauses, looks at the door behind the Antivan woman and gives a slow smile. "I could ask you the same, my friend, but I wouldn't dare pry."

"Come now. We both know that's entirely false." Josephine says with a short laugh, joining her friend and guiding them both through to her office.

"Very well." Leliana smiles as she links their arms. "I trust you passed an eventful evening?"

"It was... immensely pleasurable." Josephine knows her voices is bordering on dreamy, an airy quality to her words that is... unfortunate. But she cannot help herself.

" _Immensely_." Leliana repeats, with a singular kind of emphasis.

Josephine snickers, taking a careful seat in her chair, thankful for its generous cushioning. "Hugely."

Leliana sighs, leaning her hip up against the desk. "I am pleased for you. It may take a little time for the envy to fade, however."

"That will make a nice change then." The Antivan woman points out. "In the past, such envy would have been mine alone."

Leliana smiles faintly at the reminder of their past, more carefree days that are almost forgotten. “Do remember that I am more than willing to enact a singular kind of revenge - that would certainly not harm our chances of victory - should he hurt you in any way.”

“Noted, thank you.” Josephine replies with a small shake of her head. “I will be _sure_ to let you know. Now, what is it that you wanted from me?”


End file.
